


Hurry Up Offense

by red_crate



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Football, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protectiveness, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: Kurt looks him over, wondering just how Noah Puckerman even ended up in his truck promising to beat up his own teammates if they tried hurting him.





	Hurry Up Offense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/gifts).



> To my subscribers who are only looking for new TW content, whoops? My hand slipped. A very old OTP raised their ugly head and I said, “I’m just write this quick thing! Get it out of my system!” 
> 
> Annnnnd 5,000+ words later I finished it. 
> 
>  
> 
> To Lav, I hope the end justifies the angst for you. <3 thanks for talking Puckurt with me!

Kurt doesn’t flinch when his locker door is shut right in front of his face, but it’s a near thing. The only reason he is able to stay calm and collected is because he’s been anticipating this moment all afternoon, wondering just when it would happen but  _ expecting  _ it all the same. With a quiet sigh, Kurt turns his head to give Noah Puckerman a flat look. 

“Can I help you?” 

Noah is sidled up against the rows of lockers, still shirtless but thankfully wearing jeans. Even though he clearly just took a shower, Kurt can’t help but think the other boy looks like he needs to be wiped down in about a gallon of hand sanitizer. He just always looks so  _ dirty _ . Kurt refuses to even let his gaze flick to that obnoxious nipple ring. 

“Dude, what are you doing?” Kurt doesn’t miss the fact that Noah’s fist curls where his arm is pressed up against the lockers. He doesn’t look pissed per se, but he is certainly not happy. 

“Well, I was getting my things so I could go home for the evening—until you decided I was apparently finished with that.” He gives Noah an icy look, doing his best to hold his ground. He’s found that Noah and most of the bullies he knows react less sadistic as long as he doesn’t cower and feed their power trip. “My coat is still in there.”

“No, man. Why are you in here? On the football team?” Noah stresses his point, leaning in a little and getting in Kurt’s face. 

When Kurt has been gearing himself up for this confrontation, he’d naturally assumed there would be a smattering of the usual lackies. Usually, there are at least three or four guys shadowing whoever has decided to take point that time. But Noah has waited until the locker room was cleared except for Kurt who had, admittedly, been lingering and keeping his eyes down the whole time in hopes of just maybe being able to avoid the inevitable.

It’s totally not scary at all to be approached in a secluded room by one of your bullies. Nope. Not at all. 

Kurt gives up on fetching his coat. He rather just cut to the core of the issue and get it over with. Clutching the strap of his bag, Kurt replies. “My participation in organized sports makes my father happy. See cause and effect.” 

He backs up a few feet, smart enough to know turning his back on the likes of Noah would be ill advised. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”

“So you just up and decide to join the football team because your dad wants you to?” Noah straightens up, arms dropping to his side. “You don’t even like the game. Hell, you called it ‘auditioning,’ Hummel. You don’t know the first thing about football.” 

“I think it could be argued that a good many of our teammates don’t know how to play the game.” Kurt snaps, voice harsh even though he can easily remember the feel of those rough hands dumping him into the trash bin outside. 

Noah makes a sharp hissing sound, sucking his bottom lip in and releasing it in a satisfyingly offended smile. “Ha fucking ha, Hummel. You know what I’m talking about.”

Fed up and not feeling a little frustrated with the whole situation, Kurt demands, “What is your problem? I might not be an obvious choice for the team, but I can  _ kick _ —“

Noah interjects, “Using a Beyoncé song.” 

Kurt ignores him. “It’s a win-win situation. My dad is happy and you all have a chance to get on the scoreboard.”

His voice wavers a little. Kurt is refusing to address the darker accusations that he can hear and see rolling off Noah. He wants to keep that flimsy little wall of security up—the one that means he’s just a normal guy living a normal life like anyone else with no complicated social rules that only apply to  _ him.  _

Noah shakes his head, crossing the few steps Kurt put between them. “You’re going to get crushed.”

That pulls a gulp out of Kurt. He pushes past it, tipping his chin up. “Is that a threat? After all, we both know how much joy you find from intimidation tactics, as unimaginative as your style is.”

With a heavy sigh, Noah deflates a little. It’s the first surprising thing from the past five minutes. Kurt blinks several times. 

Rolling his eyes, Noah says, “It’s not a threat, but it is going to happen.” Before Kurt can retort, Puck continues, “You’re tiny, man. What do you think is going to happen when you’re on the field?” 

“Are you...” Kurt gapes at Noah. “Is that legitimate concern? Or is this some weird strategy to get me to quit?” 

Noah moves forward, prompting Kurt to back up farther. They’re standing in the middle of the room now, close to the door but not close for Kurt to leave without it looking like he’s fleeing. It seems the afternoon has quickly turned into a trip down the rabbit hole. 

Noah makes a face. “No? This is me trying to keep the body count down and my friends on the field instead of in the bench for murder.” 

Kurt lets out a soft scoff. “Right. Of course. How presumptuous of me to think maybe you had some humanity in you.” He shrugs his bag so the strap sits more evenly. “Maybe you should stop blaming the victim.”

That seems to confuse Noah. He gets a stupid little crease between his eyes before his expression turns, predictably, annoyed. Kurt takes the time to make his exit with a sharp turn on his heel. Maybe something Kurt said will sink its way slowly into Noah’s thick skull. 

He makes it into the hallway to freedom before he’s stopped by a firm grip on his upper arm. Kurt automatically freezes. Maybe it’s a good thing his coat is still in his locker. Noah doesn’t generally volunteer to let Kurt set aside the removable parts of his ensemble, even though a single item probably has more value than the entirety of what passes as a wardrobe for Noah. Instead of being hauled out of the building towards the dumpsters, however, Kurt is tugged closer.

Something in Noah’s expression looks almost bewildered, eyes trained on where his hand is wrapped around Kurt’s arm, wrinkling the fabric. He looks back at Kurt. 

“Finn isn’t going to be around all the time.” He starts, wetting his bottom lip as he continues, “You might think he’s like, your knight in shining armor or something, but he’s not, man. You being on the team is a bad fucking idea. And there’s not a lot me or Finn are going to be able to do to keep you from being ripped to shreds.” 

Kurt’s cheeks feel warm, heart beating quickly in his chest.  Surely, Noah doesn’t know about Kurt’s crush. Not even Mercedes picked up on it. Dear Prada, if Noah actually  _ knew _ Kurt liked Finn (or boys at all) for a fact, his life really would be over. 

Kurt pulls out of Noah’s now slack grip. “Like you wouldn’t be one of the ones doing the ripping.” He huffs. “I really don’t understand what all this,” Kurt points at Noah, “is about, but I’ll just assume it’s a lapse in intelligence brought on by too much steroids.”

Noah is still  _ shirtless _ even though they’re in the hallway and, technically, anyone who is still in the building could come strolling by. Of course, Noah has never been shy about showing off his body. Kurt rolls his eyes. 

Noah clenches his teeth and says, “I’m trying to help you, idiot.”

A shocked laugh escapes Kurt. “Help?” 

Truly, they are down the rabbit hole now. 

Noah scrubs both hands over his face and groan. “Fine! Whatever! Die for all I care.”

Noah clearly believes he  _ is _ being helpful here. But the fact that he’s even trying to pretend to be on Finn’s level is starting to piss Kurt off. 

He snaps, “You wouldn’t care! In fact, you’d probably laugh and give a hearty slap to the back of whatever guy caused it.” His fists tighten on the strap of his bag as he squares his shoulders. “You clearly don’t know what irony is, but say hello to the kettle when you see it.” 

Noah doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t chase any more after him when Kurt stalks off again. As he heads towards his car, Kurt feels like he’s buzzing. His heartbeat drowns out the sound of his footfalls, and he can’t quite see anything even though he keeps looking around him to see if anyone else is waiting to ambush him. Once he closes and locks the door, he can relax enough to take a few deep breaths and ask no one, “What on  _ earth _ was that about?” 

* * *

The next day, Kurt has mostly put the incident behind him. He manages to dodge the jocks loitering outside waiting for their morning’s entertainment by a side entrance that leads to the athletic department. He needs to retrieve his coat anyway. The sweater he’s wearing today is warm enough, but it is supposed to start raining this afternoon. He doesn’t want to ruin the cashmere. 

It’ll be a quick in and out, then he can catch up with Mercedes and Tina before first period. 

“Kurt.” A gruff voice catches Kurt’s attention. It’s Coach Tanaka standing by the door to his office. He’s got a half eaten donut in one hand and a styrofoam cup in the other. There are crumbs around his mouth. 

“Hello Coach Tanaka,” Kurt hesitates, not in the mood to put up with the awkwardness. The coach was clearly thrilled to have a kicker who could actually get the ball where it needed to be, but he also seemed completely bewildered by that person being  _ Kurt.  _

“Here,” he waves Kurt over with the donut, propping his door open with a foot until Kurt obliges. “You need your gear. I found a pair of pads that should fit okay.” 

Kurt watches warily as Coach Tanaka rounds his desk, shoving the donut into his mouth as he does so. “Lovely.”

“Here.” The coach lifts a ratty red duffel bag onto his desk. It trumps against the faux wood ominously. “You got your shoulder pads, leg pads, jersey, and helmet. Let me know if any of it doesn’t fit right. I gave you the smallest pads I have, but I can probably get something else if I gotta.”

Kurt eyes the bag. “Alright. I suppose I really am on the team.”

Coach Tanaka nods. “Long as you keep kicking like you did yesterday, you have a spot, kid.” He shuffles through the Mesa of paperwork on his risk before handing over a sheet to Kurt. “Here’s the other stuff you’ll need for your uniform. You need all of it by Friday’s game.”

The list isn’t long, but staring at the words  _ “athletic cup” _ makes Kurt blush and feel like letting asking the ground to swallow him. “Oh,” he squeaks. 

“Yeah,” Coach Tanaka lifts his hat up and scratches at his head the same way Kurt’s dad does when he doesn’t know how to gracefully segue subjects. He clears his throat. “That should do it until practice tomorrow.” 

“Right. Thanks.” 

Kurt gingerly picks up the duffle bag. It’s shaped oddly from the pads and helmet inside. Kurt frowns at the dubious stain he finds on the left side of the canvas. He plans to ditch all of it in his locker until the last minute. Football gear so does not go with his outfit. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters to himself when he’s in the boys locker room. 

Because there’s Noah,  _ again _ . Shirtless,  _ again _ . The only thing that keeps Kurt from snidely asking _ “Did you spend the night here?” _ is the fact that Noah is zipping up a different pair of jeans. His back is to Kurt, so he hasn’t noticed him yet. Kurt wonders if he can be quiet enough to swap out the duffle bag for his coat. 

Ugh. He’s never going to be able to keep his clothes from smelling gross if he has to store secondhand football gear in the same space.

He gets his combination spun into the lock before Kurt hears Noah slamming his own door shut. Kurt ignores it as he slips his coat off the hook and drapes it over his arm. It’s going to take effort to shove that bag into his locker. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Noah walking over. At least the other boy is pulling a shirt down over his shoulders. It’s a worn white henley long sleeve that Kurt grudgingly notes doesn’t look awful on him. 

He pushes against the bag with both hands. It doesn’t budge very much. When Noah is close enough that it would be rude to ignore him, Kurt purses his lips and pushes harder. 

“Take the helmet out,” Noah suggests, reaching forward like he’s going to  _ help _ Kurt or something. “It won’t fit like that.”

Kurt jerks the bag back, nearly dropping his coat to the floor in the process. “Thanks,” he says sharply. “I got it.” 

Noah raises his hands up in a placating gesture. “Whoa, princess.” 

Kurt cuts his eyes over to Noah at the nickname. It’s not even eight in the morning, and it feels like Kurt’s face is going on fire. He stamps down the twist in his stomach and says, “If you’re going to continue your campaign to quit, you can just leave.” 

With a sigh, Noah turns to lean back heavily against the lockers. “I know I’m kind of a dick.” He smiles slightly at the unattractive snort Kurt makes at that. “But what I do isn’t the same as what some of the other guys do.” 

Kurt drops the duffle bag to the floor and leans over to unzip it, deigning to accept the advice. It’s difficult to pull get the bag open, pull the helmet out, and keep his coat from touching the floor all at once though.

“Here.” Noah holds his hand out expectantly. “That’s the fancy jacket right?” He shakes his hand impatiently when Kurt just eyes him.

“Marc Jacobs,” he corrects. “Are your hands clean?” 

Noah gives him a look. “Give me the damn jacket, or put it on the bench like everyone else.” 

Kurt can see where Noah’s own red and white letter jacket is draped over the bench in front of the other row of lockers. Noah’s bag is lying on  _ the floor _ . It’s suspiciously flat looking considering Kurt knows the other boy must have had just as much homework as he did last night. 

Reluctantly, Kurt hands his coat over. He says, “You slusheed me and Tina last Friday with two of the defensemen.” Kurt briefly read through the wiki page about American football last night. He hopes the stab he took at correctly labeling his teammates was at least marginally accurate. “You’re no different than any of the other Neanderthals.”

Just reading about the sport made Kurt want to claw his eyes out. But his father had been so enthusiastic about it at dinner that Kurt couldn’t give up yet. He looks at the scuffed helmet in his hand. There is a disheartening dent on the back. Kurt winces before hanging it on one of his locker hooks.

“Slushies are tradition, man. It was a game day on top of that.” Noah tips his head back, looking every inch the misunderstood Abercrombie youth. “I wouldn’t, like, actually hurt you.” 

Kurt remembers a few bruises on his arms and sides that would argue Noah’s declaration. Instead, Kurt closes the locker door once he has the duffle bag hidden. He turns to Noah, hand held out for his coat. 

“I get the feeling that you have found some heretofore unseen depths of conscience, but I don’t want it. Especially if you are just going to make vague threats about the intentions of others while continuing your own streak of brutality.” 

Noah looks over at him, “What?” 

If he believed praying would actually help, Kurt thinks now would be a good time to pray for patience or clarity. Because he really does not understand what Noah’s deal is. 

“You say you’re different because you won’t hurt me,” Kurt makes air quotes. “But you aren’t. Stop warning me off from the team. I don’t particularly  _ want  _ to be here either. I am on the team though. So deal with it like a big boy.” 

Kurt has turned away, but another point just popped into his brain. He looks back at Noah. “Finn might not be the classic definition of knight in shining armor, but at least he  _ tries  _ to be nice.” 

The expression on Noah’s face darkens. “You know he only got you a try-out because he’s desperate to make the guys stop giving him a hard time for being in Glee, right? It’s got nothing to do with wanting to be nice to you.” He pushes off the lockers so he’s at his full height. “He wants you to be the new target.” 

Kurt wants to deny the accusation. He clamps his jaw shut, however, unwilling to give Noah the satisfaction. Instead, he leaves. 

* * *

“I want it on record that I was right,” Kurt is smiling at Mercedes as they walk towards their next class. “I told you she wouldn’t make it past the underwater shoot.” 

Mercedes rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “Okay, fine. You were right.” She argues, “I just think they could have kept her a little longer though. The house drama was totally enough to give her a free pass for one more week.” 

Kurt turns to look at her, but he’s knocked over by something solid. He registers Mercedes gasp, “Oh my God.” The. He’s being pushed into the bathroom by two guys he vaguely recognizes in their letter jackets. 

The blonde one gets him up against the cement block wall, fingers tight in the front of Kurt’s sweater. “Coach might think you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, but you better watch yourself.” His breath smells like pop.

Kurt’s eyes feel hot automatically, tears of fear and frustration welling up before he realizes it. He doesn’t blink, but he raises his hands in surrender. “Okay? I’m not...I’m sorry?”

The curly headed guy leans in over his friend’s shoulder and says, “We don’t want you on the team. No one does. We sure as shit don’t want you perving on us in the showers. So you better quit.” 

Kurt can’t quite focus on any one thing. He pushes at the blonde’s grip on his sweater, nodding. “I get it. I’m not an obvious choice. But I swear I’m not—I’m not even looking.” 

Even if he was stupid enough to look at any of them when it felt safe, Kurt doesn’t find either of these two attractive. He doesn’t say that though. 

He says, “I don’t even plan on showering!” 

Blondie hauls Kurt forward suddenly, using his grip to maneuver Kurt until they’re in a stall. 

Kurt is crying now, whimpering useless pleas for mercy. He knows exactly what is on the agenda, and the knowledge has him scratching to get away. 

“Fuck. You’re gonna pay for that f—“ Blondie doesn’t get to finish his sentence because he’s suddenly being torn backwards.

When the fingers on his sweater release, Kurt scrambles away. He barely registers the fact that a third letter jacket has joined the fray.

“Kurt!” Mercedes, joined by Tina, latches onto him as soon as he is out of the bathroom. “Are you okay?” She looks over his shoulder for a second like she’s hoping to see what’s happening. When she looks at him again, she asks, “Do you want to go to Figgins?” 

Tina hands Kurt a rumpled, clean tissue from a little pack she pulled from her purse. “You sh-should. They need to be s-suspended for that.” 

Kurt has already gotten his breath, but he’s still shaking a little from the adrenaline. Hooking his arm with Mercedes’, he wipes delicately at his cheeks. Hopefully his concealer isn’t smeared. “Let’s just go. I’m fine.” 

Mercedes gives a soft protest, “Kurt,” but she doesn’t press the issue. Tina just nods solemnly.

“Fuck you, man!” Blondie shines, high pitched as he bursts through the bathroom door and into the hallway. He doesn’t even look at Kurt and the girls as he stalks away. It looks like his nose is bleeding. 

Curly follows suit, holding his arm to his chest. “Wait up!”

Tina and Mercedes stopped walking as soon as Blondie came running out, even though Kurt just wants to leave. Which means he’s standing there when Noah emerges. His cheek looks a little swollen on one side and, Kurt notes absently, his knuckles are red. 

“Puck, oh my God. Thank you!” Mercedes gushes. “Are you alright?” 

Noah nods, but he’s looking intently at Kurt. “I told you.” He spits pink on the linoleum floor.

Kurt doesn’t have anything to say right now. He doesn’t want to even think, let alone come up with some retort. Worse, he doesn’t want to have to thank Noah Puckerman for saving him from the very situation he’d been warning him about. 

“Let’s go,” he tugs at Mercedes and looks at Tina instead of Noah. 

They reluctantly go with him, obviously exchanging looks over his head. Noah turns the opposite way, thankfully. 

“You didn’t even thank him.” Mercedes lightly chides, more confused than anything. 

Kurt pulls his arm free when they make it to English. He attempts to smooth his sweater, but it’s a hopeless task. The fabric has been stretched. “Why was he even there?” 

“When you got snatched, I didn’t know what to do except look for Finn.” Mercedes explains. “But I ran into Puck first. When I asked him where Finn was, he wanted to know why.” 

Kurt watches her shake her head and tears well up in her eyes. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. Kurt, I was so scared for you!” 

Tina pipes up. “Are you s-s-sure you don’t want t-to tell?” 

Kurt clears his throat. “No. Nothing even happened. There’s nothing Figgins will be able to do except put Puck and the other two in detention for fighting.” He sighs. “And if that happens, they won’t be able to play Friday.” 

Which, he knows, will only make things worse for himself.

“So? Kurt! You could have been really  _ hurt! _ ” Mercedes presses. 

Snapping, Kurt practically shouts, “I know!” He crosses his arms and looks away. “I don’t want to tell, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m going to class.” 

Silence stretches for a moment after Kurt is finished talking. Tina is the one who says, “Okay.” She nods slowly, eyes looking full of sympathy. 

Mercedes looks like she wants to argue about it, but she finally just sighs heavily before walking into the classroom. Kurt follows after giving Tina a tight smile. 

* * *

 

Kurt skips Glee, even though he had originally been looking forward to it. Glee is his  _ sanctuary  _ despite Quinn and Santana infiltrating the space. They actually brought just enough drama and intrigue to make Glee exciting. Watching Rachel and Quinn compete for the title of Queen Bee was amusing. But, now all he can imagine is Finn cornering and asking him what happened the second he steps foot in the choir room. 

Everyone knows Noah got in a fight with two of his teammates. Everyone also knows that Kurt was somehow involved. Some of the rumors are especially revolting. There is no way in hell he wants to listen to Finn ask him about any of it. 

Fantasizing about Finn holding him and promising to beat up anyone else who dared put a finger on him isn’t enough to chase away the hollow, angry feeling sitting in his chest. 

“Are you stalking me?” Kurt accuses, coming to a stop when he finds Noah sitting in the pavement. He’s leaning back against the driver side tire of Kurt’s Navigator. “I’m calling the police.” 

Noah stands up, looking like he’s he’s actually been waiting for Kurt instead of having just decided he was tired from walking across the student parking lot and needed somewhere to sit. He shrugs his back pack onto a shoulder. 

“Not stalking,” he says, watching as Kurt slowly approaches him. 

Kurt has his keys and phone out, but Noah is standing in his way. “The evidence would suggest otherwise.” He crosses his arms, as much out of annoyance as an attempt to keep out  the chill of the fall air. “Move away from my baby.”

“Are you okay?” Noah asks woodenly, body stuff and eyes not quite meeting Kurt’s. 

“I’m really sick of people asking me that. I’m fine.” Kurt looks Noah over, relenting the slightest when he catches sight of his knuckles below the cuff of his jacket. He says, “You didn’t need to do what you did.”

Noah tips his head to the side, smile twitching along his lips. “You’re welcome.”

Kurt is momentarily horrified when he has a fleeting impression that Noah is trying to be charming. He frowns. “I didn’t say thank you. Now, if this is done, I need to get home.  _ Move _ .” 

He holds the fob out and very obviously presses the unlock button. He watches Noah make a “be my guest” gesture as he steps away, finally, from the driver side door. 

Kurt keeps an eye on Noah as he opens his door and steps up into it. When he’s got the door shut again, Kurt sets his bag down on the floorboard behind his seat. 

As he turns back, the passenger door opens and Noah slides into the seat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kurt’s voice rises several octaves. He pushes back against his door in an attempt to put more space between them. 

“Uh, talking to you?” Noah says, like it’s just so obvious. “Chill out.” 

Noah smooths his palms over the middle console and arm control panel of the door. He whistles. “Damn, Hummel, she’s pretty.”

Momentarily distracted by the appreciation from Noah, Kurt agrees. “Yes, she is.” He eyes the way Noah uses his thumb to turn the dials slowly. “What do you want to talk about, Noah?” 

Noah stopped going by host first name some time in middle school, choosing Puck as his monicker. As much as Kurt can appreciate wanting to reinvent one’s self, he refuses to use the nickname when Noah is a perfectly fine name. He also might have issue with Noah inadvertently assuming a name from one of Kurt’s favorite plays. 

Noah narrows his eyes slightly at him. Then he lounges back against the leather seat.

“Put your foot on my dash and you  _ die _ ,” Kurt threatens, seriously, when he sees Noah lifting a knee. 

Noah smiles and lowers his leg back down. “Big talk coming from the smallest guy on the football team.” 

“Why does it feel like you are physically incapable of getting to the point of whatever it is you try to talk about?” Kurt asks, more of the universe than Noah. That’s a useless task. 

“Don’t you have Dork Music Club right now?” Noah counters.

Kurt fidgets with the key ring in his hand. “What, were you going to camp out against my truck until Glee was over?”

None of this is making sense at all. 

Noah shrugs, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he lobs back yet another question. “Why’d you skip? I thought it was against every dork’s religion to skip.” 

Kurt scowls, asking pointedly, “Why do you  _ care _ ?” 

With an annoyed sound, Noah says, “I don’t. But I wanted to make sure you get it.” He leans up, over the console. “What happened today is just the start.” 

Fear spikes in Kurt. He swallows it back down though. “I’m not scared of a swirly.” 

Somewhere in the back of his head, his survival instincts are screaming at him. But it’s not like he wants to show Noah any weakness in this. Noah is a  _ bully _ —today’s heroics aside. He practically lives off the smell of others’ fear. 

Noah scoffs. “Yeah right. I know how dainty and shit you are. You’d be scarred for life if you got a swirly.” He looks at Kurt, expression sobering. “If that’s even where it stopped. I’m a dick. I’ve been an asshole to you. But some of these guys? Man, they are on a whole other level. They take shit too far.” 

Artie told them all about the port-a-potty incident that Noah orchestrates. If that falls under Noah’s line, then Kurt doesn’t really want to think about what “too far” entails. He’s been avoiding thinking about it since he first asked Finn for help.

Just because he doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t mean he is ignorant of all the painful possibilities. 

“I’m not trying to shake things up for any of you, okay? There is no need for any macho chest beating or intimidation.” Kurt moves so he’s looking out of the windshield. “I just want to do this one thing that will make my dad happy. If I do that, then maybe he will look past all the things that make him  _ un _ happy.”

Noah is silent for a beat. “So this really isn’t like some plot to...” He shrugs unhelpfully. “Alright. I can try to get the guys to let it go. Some of them are kinda pissed at me right now. But I’m sure Finn can say something inspiring to help.” 

The last few words come out slightly mocking, bringing a small smile to Kurt’s mouth. Finn can be really, really earnest sometimes. It’s cute, but Kurt supposes he could see how it would be annoying to some. 

“Thank you,” Kurt says honestly. He looks over at Noah, examining the other boy for a moment. “I did not expect this of you.” 

“Whatever,” Noah slouches in his seat.

Kurt hesitates, but then he says, “Here.”  He opens the console and pulls out a small zip bag. “I suppose this is the least I could do for my savior.”

He opens the bag and locates the Wet Ones. Kurt reaches for Noah’s bruising hand, ignoring the slight flinch the touch causes. The scratches aren’t bleeding anymore, but there is dried blood caked on Noah’s skin. Carefully, Kurt wipes it away before tossing the soiled napkin away. 

Noah doesn’t pull his hand away when Kurt is done. He waits patiently while Kurt digs out the emergency ice pack he keeps with his first aid kit. Kurt alternates shaking and squeezing the pack until it’s activated.

“You’re jacket is probably too thick,” Kurt mutters as he looks around for something. “This should work.” He pulls up a scarf he left in his back seat last week. 

“Uh, okay,” Noah agrees uncertainly. He still doesn’t pull away, even when Kurt starts wrapping the paisley fabric around his knuckles. 

When Kurt is finished tucking the ice pack into a fold of the scarf so it stays in place without being in direct contact with skin, he says, “All done.” 

His face feels warm.

Noah turns his hand over and back again, carefully flexing it to test the knot holding it together. “Cool.” He looks at Kurt with a crooked smile.

Focusing on tidying his first aid kit, Kurt pulls back. “Just remember this next time you need a target for your slushie tradition.” 

Out of his periphery, Kurt sees Noah’s smile stretch into a smirk as he says, “Guess you’re off limits for everything, huh?” He holds out his other hand expectantly. 

Something about that sounds like an innuendo even though  _ it shouldn’t _ . Kurt looks at the offered hand. 

Noah snorts and reaches down to catch Kurt’s left hand, curling his fingers around it until they are doing that bro handshake thing Kurt has seen all the other guys do. He raises an eyebrow but follows Noah’s lead. 

“Okay, you need to work on that,” Noah says, sitting back and releasing his hold on Kurt’s hand, “If you’re gonna stay on the team.” 

“I am,” Kurt says with as much confidence as he has.

“Guess I’ll have to stock up on some of this shit.” Noah sighs, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. 

Kurt looks him over, wondering just how Noah Puckerman even ended up in his truck promising to beat up his own teammates if they tried hurting him. 

He clears his throat, “Uh, I think you should go now. I only want to be around when Glee dismisses.”

Noah nods and reaches for his bag which he’d dropped between his feet. He looks down at his hand then back at Kurt. “Yeah. See ya around.” 

* * *

Kurt is the first in the locker room after school the next day, planning to get changed out and on the field before anyone can accuse him of  _ looking _ . He spins his combination and pops the door open. 

A small white envelope is sitting on the red duffle bag inside. He hesitates before reaching for it. Carefully turning it over until he can pull the card out, Kurt frowns when he recognizes the logo to the Lima Bean. 

_ One cold one deserves another. Drink up princess.  _

The script is spidery and cramped, but sort of familiar. Not that he would need a degree in graphology to realize who the ten dollar gift card was from. 

Kurt runs his thumb over the impression the pen left behind and smiles. He tucks it into the pocket of his coat before he gets changed. 


End file.
